


Friday Morning

by faerylaery



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: F/M, ayyy lmao, bc my friend loves 5sos, but hey i liked it, enjoy, even though that doesn't have a ton to do with it, frat ! calum, friday mornings, lol first story, so i wrote this as an imagine, where calum is a slightly odd thinker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 04:32:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3106004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/faerylaery/pseuds/faerylaery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was late and shitty things always happen late. It was also dark and shitty things happen in the dark. But it was late and it was dark and he was hoping for something other than disaster. Which may have been in vain. But he wanted something and if he had any say in something he wanted, it usually happened.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> ! AU where calum meets someone late and in the dark but it’s not really a disaster.   
>  In other words, strange things happen in basements. That or 7 minutes is a universe of its own.

Friday morning  
my ancestors were French  
I’ve learned lots of things  
like the particular power  
of the arricular flower  
and the memories it brings

He didn’t know what arricular meant. In fact he looked it up and it wasn’t even a word but it was friday morning and the poem etched on the wooden leg of the wooden chair seemed a fit to his friday morning nostalgia. He wasn’t really a sentimental guy except on friday mornings and he wasn’t a philosopher either but somehow he managed to come up with the strangest thoughts that he sometimes sold to the philosophy major living above him because the guy always said his odd revelations got solid a’s every time. But only on friday mornings. And maybe it was the poem and maybe it was the buzz of parties to come that gave him the rush but he strongly suspected it was the fact that the same girl passed by his dorm room at the same time on the same day with the same expression on her face. Often wearing the same black choker. Which, to most seems like a simple occurrence, but not to him because in his friday morning nostalgia everything seemed a little bit more complex. So every friday morning at exactly 6:05 his alarm would go off because he knew it took him exactly 15 minutes to shower, 10 minutes to get dressed, and 15 minutes to do his hair. And he only knows this because of that damn girl that passed the same place at the same time on the same day with the same expression on her face. Not to mention the same black choker. And because in his friday morning nostalgia, he felt betrayed if something as strangely captivating as that girl were to discontinue her regular routines, he had to be sitting beside the window, cereal in hand, at exactly 6:53.

After the morning ended (which to him was at exactly 6:55, or when the oddly punctual girl was out of view), he was immediately initiated back into the life and thoughts of a frat boy. The only trace of friday morning left in his mind was his insistence on leaving at precisely 7:00. The other boys no longer had an opinion and they didn’t mind. It wasn’t like they would have left before then anyway. But all inquiries on why he was so adamant about this simple rule prompted no response. The only clue they had ever had was from a party one night and even then they weren’t sure whether they had dreamt up the entire thing. But one guy from room 2b said he distinctly heard Calum say something about a pretty girl and that anything under 7 minutes would be too close for two universes but anything over 7 minutes meant he lost the slight gravitational pull of his heart. (He also turned slightly philosophical when he got drunk. And if he was ever to use a metaphor, he only ever used planets.)

So the day came and went with the occasional wondering of how long until the period ended and how long until the day ended and he didn’t think about how long until life ended because those were friday morning thoughts and it was friday afternoon.

So when a girl gently touched his arm asking him in her most seductive voice if he was planning on going to her party that night he replied with a grand “of fucking course I am” because thinking about who she was and what the point was of going and really what the point was of anything were friday morning thoughts and it was friday afternoon.

So when he was finally at home and he and his roommate were getting ready to go to the party, as he was putting on his black skinny jeans, he was thinking of nothing but getting drunk and getting laid. And maybe that was why shitty things happened late. Why should he know though? He would only know on friday morning and it was friday night.

He slammed the door on his way out too because he only gave a fuck on friday mornings and it was friday night.

And when he had walked down the block to the sorority house he immediately grabbed a drink because didn’t he say he was going to get wasted? And if he wanted something and if he had any say in something he wanted, it usually happened. Halfway through guzzling down his drink of god knows what, he heard a familiar voice calling him from down a flight of stairs and although he couldn’t tolerate talking to her, he could certainly tolerate shagging her. Reluctantly, he set his drink down and stepped into the harsh cold of the expansive basement. Someone had opened the window taking up half of one of the walls. He didn’t mind, it was sobering, almost. Almost enough to lead him all the way to friday morning mentality. But it was friday night.

“Calum, calum come quickly, you have to meet Grace. She’s been single for almost a year now and it’s just not fair. Set her up with someone, will you? I gotta go grab a drink.” 

He almost said grab me one too. He almost walked over to Grace. He almost winked at her before she left but he did none of that. How could he when he wasn’t 7 minutes away from the same girl who wasn’t in the same place or at the same time. She wasn’t even wearing the same choker but she was sitting there on a couch only feet away and he didn’t know whether to run away because being less than 7 minutes away from her was enough to make his stomach twist in knots, or maybe to tell her to stay away from this party because she wasn’t supposed to be in his universe or even just look away because it didn’t seem right that he didn’t have foggy glass in between his eyes and hers. But he did none of that either and somehow that seemed a lot sadder than it should have been.

“Hey! Wait, you…” and she had slipped into the crowd but he felt like he had to finish the sentence because sentences were meant to be finished so he whispered a small conclusion. 

“You feel like friday morning.”

So suddenly being single for almost a year didn’t seem so horrendous, not when all of a sudden it was friday morning again and there was something in the back of his brain telling him that life should be more like friday morning or at least more like friday mornings with her. And he didn’t want to get drunk because then he wouldn’t remember every loop on the black choker she always wore. And suddenly bleach blonde wasn’t so appealing and it wasn’t love at first sight, it was just occasional love from a seat by a window at exactly 6:53.

So when he slipped into the crowd in search of the pink tips of her hair, whispering the friday morning poem to the beat of his heart, nothing else seemed to matter because it was friday morning, always was, always will be, when he’s around her. He supposed the philosophy major upstairs would be happy. There seemed to be many more a’s in his future.


End file.
